


Catskani'son and Deadpawl

by Quakey (Quak3y)



Series: Catskani'son and Deadpawl [1]
Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cats, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey
Summary: Do I really need to say anything other than “Nate and Wade as cats” and “soulmate AU” to get you interested?(Overwhelmingly G-rated, occasionally T-rated, and the epilogue is E-rated.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve made no attempt to fit this into a particular continuity. I had a massive need for fluff. And my favorite headcanon versions of the boys. And cats. In fact, it’s ignoring large swathes of canon. And yet I couldn’t resist throwing in references to Bable aka Baby Cable aka Kid Cable from the latest Extermination and X-Force comics. And a fix-it for recent Extermination events.
> 
> Belated Merry Christmas or whatever you choose to celebrate. :) I hope you enjoy.

“Deadpool,” a voice roars, “ _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

Wade yells in surprise as something glowy and rope-like grabs his ankles and yanks him into the air, leaving him hanging from the ceiling and watching a very pissed-off looking sorcerer approaching. Upside down of course. He twists his head to try to get a better look.

“Oh. Heheh. Hi, Doc. Hey, that glowy stuff isn't tentacles, right? Because while it's theoretically interesting and everything, I'm not usually into tentacle sex--”

“I repeat, what are you doing here?” Doctor Strange demands in exasperation.

“Sneaking! I was sneaking. Looking for anything interesting, just because, you understand. The author's lazy and doesn't want to come up with an actual plot reason. Now I'm just hanging around.”

Strange sighs and rubs his forehead. “Just … stop it! This is the second time this month with this idiocy! Do you realize what some of the objects in this house would do to any non-magical user foolish enough to handle them?”

“Well duh,” Wade says as dismissively as he can, given he's very slowly spinning from the glowy ropes and having to crane his neck to keep Doctor Strange in sight. “That's why I didn't touch the ones labeled ‘Do Not Touch.’ Unless they looked really interesting. I've only had to regrow a hand once tonight.” He waves the appendage in question at Strange, who looks vaguely horrified at the new hand and half a forearm sticking out of the singed end of his sleeve. “You even had one labeled ‘Please Touch’ in the front hall!”

“Oh, did you touch that one? That might be useful at some point.” The Doc looks mildly distracted for a moment before focusing again. “But in any case, if you don't have a legitimate reason to be here, begone from my house!”

He makes some sort of sharp, swirly, glowy gesture.

There's a flash of light and then Wade drops headfirst into a sheet of water with a large, fountaining splash. A few seconds later he surfaces, coughing and spluttering indignantly. A quick glance around confirms he's in the middle of the pond in Central Park.

“Quack,” says a duck that's paddled over to investigate if the large splash might have been a giant piece of bread landing. After all, the signs say not to feed the ducks, but that doesn't mean everyone listens.

“Quack to you too, Howard,” Wade mutters as he starts swimming for shore, then wades once it's shallow enough. He shivers as he climbs out on the shore. Sorcerers. No sense of humor. Time to get a cab home and drip all over some poor immigrant's back seat. And he hadn't even found anything interesting to play with.

_~~~~~some weeks later~~~~~_

“Now, I cannot stress enough that you have to keep in mind the moon phase at the time,” Doctor Strange admonishes as he descends the stairs.

“Of course, Doctor. Your instructions were perfectly clear the first time,” Nathan Summers answers dryly as he follows him down.

“I know, but the layperson tends to look at the sky and think ‘oh, the moon is full,’ without actually consulting astronomical charts. An internet search should give acceptable accurate results. Even one day before or after the full moon will greatly reduce your chances of success against your werewolf problem.”

Cable pats a hip pouch where the Doctor's gifts are stowed.

“I'll get the exact date and time and timeslide there. No worries.”

As they reach the ground floor and walk toward the front doors, Cable pauses. There is a small stand beside the bottom of the staircase, holding a dark-colored carved stone statue depicting two figures of indeterminate gender embracing in a twining, artistic, but physically impossible way. There is very little detail on the outward facing bits of the carving, as it appears to have been rubbed smooth as if by the touching of many, many hands. In front of the statue is a brass, engraved placard that says in small letters, ‘Ritual statue from the temple of Sumerian Goddess Inanna, depicting a meeting of lovers.’ And then in larger letters underneath, ‘Please Touch.’

He's running his hand over the surface of the statue before he thinks better of it.

There's a flash and what feels like an explosion concussing his ear drums, yet there's no noise. Even though the afterimage of the flash he can see two streaks of light fly out of the statue, zip in a sparking whirlwind pursuit of each other, and then suddenly hurtle away straight through the walls.

It's over in an instant.

He blinks and finds Strange has whirled to face him. The edge of his cape is still twirling dramatically, then falls as Strange carefully straightens out of a half crouch. He lets his hands drop from some arcane symbol they were shaping.

“Well,” he breathes, sounding excited. “I've never seen it do _that_ before.”

Cable blinks again and looks at his hand still resting on a very ordinary looking stone carving, texture fine-grained and utterly smooth under his fingers. He carefully pulls it away from the stone.

“What just happened?”

Strange looks slightly embarrassed. “Well, you see, that statue was once part of a love goddess’ temple. Worshippers could touch it if they were hoping to find their perfect lover. A ‘soulmate’ we might say today. If two people who were perfectly suited for each other had both touched the statue and left just a little bit of their soul behind, it was supposed to send those soul bits back out into the world to help guide the lovers to each other.”

Nate latches onto the most important bit. “Did you just say, ‘left a bit of their soul behind?’” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“Well, yes.” Strange literally waves off the question with a bored gesture. “A tiny amount, not enough to damage you in any way.”

“So a bit of my soul is now running around somewhere … trying to guide me to my soulmate?”

“Trying to guide your soulmate to _you_. Their bit of soul will go to you to do the same.”

Cable takes a deep breath. Just like in combat, when sometimes the situation would turn on a dime, he tries to center his mind. Clear away preconceptions. _What is, is. Apparently, what is, is that I have a soulmate somewhere and a bit of my soul is chasing them._

“This means my ‘soulmate’,” with highly sceptical emphasis, “has been here and also touched this statue?”

“They had to have touched it as well and still be alive.”

“That means you may know who it is.”

Strange grimaces. “Well… I have that placard there for a reason. Having a magical object that stores a tiny fraction of a person’s essence for later use has advantages. Most of the Avengers, a large number of the X-Men, and who knows who else has come through my doors and brushed against this,” he waves his hand, “little decoration. Hundreds of people. And before I acquired it, it was probably handled by hundreds or thousands of people in the past century or so.”

“Do I have to do anything about it?”

“Excuse me?” Doctor Strange looks confused 

“This soulmate. Do I have to find them? Or can I ignore it?”

“It's not like a curse. There's no requirement that you go look for them.”

That settles it.

“Alright. Thank you, Doctor, for your time and help.” He nods, a bare minimum of politeness, but it's all he can manage at the moment, and strides out the front door.

_~~~~~a week or so later~~~~~_

Wade is watching Netflix, because what else would he be doing alone on a Saturday night in his apartment, when there's a noise at the door. Not a loud noise. Just a bit of a thump. Followed by a bit of scratching.

He lets Happy! keep running in the background while he quietly stands and tiptoes to the door, pulling a handgun out of the couch cushions as he goes. When he yanks the door open, gun aimed into the hallway, there’s nothing there. And then he hears a noise and looks down.

There’s a cat sitting on his “Go Away” welcome mat.

An extremely large cat.

An extremely large and very long-haired silver tabby cat that is missing its left front leg, left eye, most of its left ear and has a number of scars over its remaining, startlingly bright blue right eye and its nose.

The cat meows, looking up at him calmly. Then it stands and with a strange half-hopping half-walking gate it goes straight into the apartment, making sure to lean heavily against Wade’s knees on the way in. Wade closes the door and follows it in bemused confusion, gun still raised but not really sensing any threat. When the cat gets to the couch, it hops up, turns in circles a couple times, and then settles down into a ball of self-satisfied-looking fur on the center couch cushion.

Wade wanders over, flicks on the safety, and shoves the gun down the couch cushions again as he sits.

“You came over just to watch Netflix?”

The cat yawns, a spectacle of impressively long and sharp teeth, and then puts its head down and goes to sleep.

Wade goes back to watching Happy! while the cat keeps him company. A couple hours later he gets up and goes out and buys a litter box, kitty litter, and cat food.

_~~~~~similarly~~~~~_

The time-traveling werewolf thing is fairly easy to take care of, although tedious. Afterward Nate just wants to get back to his current safehouse in New York, take a long shower to get rid of the smell of wolfsbane, and sleep for twelve or more hours.

However, he’s also hungry, so he stops to grab takeout from a Malaysian restaurant before walking the handful of blocks back to his safehouse apartment.

It’s while he’s walking that he hears a cacophony of discordant noise explode from an alley ahead of him.

He walks faster, then starts jogging as something starts screaming.

The sight that greets him in the alley is not too surprising: half a dozen cats involved in a catfight back in the shadows. As he comes up on it, he sees that all but one of the cats is attacking the remaining one. The bullied victim is backed into a corner between a dumpster and a wall, hissing and spitting and yowling, paws and claws flashing outward if any of the others dares come within reach. Through the shadows he can’t be sure, but the cat seems oddly thin compared to its attackers.

“Hey!” Nate yells sharply, and the attacking cats all startle and scatter, some running and some backing away slowly while complaining and hissing.

The one in the corner stays hunched there, back a high and angry arc, but its voice turns from angry-orc-creature to querulous-goblin-whine.

Nate squats down but doesn’t try to get closer to the cat. “It’s okay, they’re gone now,” he says as softly and gently as he knows how.

The animal is just a cat-shaped outline in the shadows with two eyes reflecting street glow back at him, but he can see it relax, back sinking downward. Then suddenly it zooms forward and is right in front of him, one paw on his knee as it raises up to get a good look and smell of him. Then it drops down again and is rubbing its shoulder against the take-out bag in Nate’s hand and purring like a misfiring chainsaw.

“Hungry?” Nate asks in amusement. He dares to reach out a finger to very gently touch the cat on the nose, and it butts its head into his hand, which is when he confirms that it’s a hairless cat, velvety and warm as he strokes it gently. But then he also feels it shiver in the cold of the alley and makes a quick decision, switching the carryout between hands so he can scoop the cat up with his TO arm in case it fights him.

But instead of baring claws or struggling, the cat seems overjoyed to be tucked inside the warmth of his coat and carried along back to the apartment, where it proceeds to consume a significant fraction of its own weight in chicken satay before falling asleep sprawled across Nate’s lap.

_~~~~~a couple days later~~~~~_

“You,” Wade announces, “are going to the vet.”

The cat looks completely unimpressed but finally allows itself to be baited into the cat carrier with a soft blanket and cat treats. Wade pets its soft, broad face for a while, running fingers gently over the mane-like ruff the big cat has over his shoulders and down his chest until the cat is purring and settling down on the blanket. Only then does he finally shut the carrier door. He doesn’t want the cat to think the carrier is _all_ bad.

The vet--a lady with her long, curly, slightly graying hair pulled back in a braid and obviously more interest in her client’s animals than in her clients--tells him the cat is unchipped and unregistered, probably a Maine Coon based on its size, and that whatever mangled its left side happened a long time ago.

“And his ear looks bad, but it’s only cosmetic. The inner ear is intact and he can localize sounds just fine.” She stands behind the cat and snaps her fingers behind one of his shoulders. He instantly turns his head to stare at the offending noise. “On the other hand, that left eye is totally gone. He has no depth perception and will have trouble gauging distance, like how far away things are when he leaps at them.”

She chips the cat and vaccinates him. Wade also buys a slim, red collar with “Mr. Fluffypants” and “Property of Deadpool” and his phone number on it in black. The cat is massively unimpressed by the collar and tries to evade it.

“If you ever want to go back outside, you’ll wear the damn collar,” Wade says sternly.

The cat practically rolls its eyes but finally puts up with the collar nestled in amongst all the fur on his neck.

_~~~~~also~~~~~_

Nate’s first good look at the cat reveals just how truly ugly it is. Or at least, not conventionally beautiful. Obviously it’s a Sphynx cat, hairless except for a velvety fuzz, and it's skinny and wrinkled like a bizarre cat-goblin. It's mostly pink, but with small irregular black patches here and there all over its neck and body, and it has large yellow eyes. It’s also scarred all over, like it’s been in dozens of fights and lost them all. When it meows, its voice warps and cracks and squeaks. When it purrs, it still sounds like a misfiring engine, uneven and sputtering … and utterly enthusiastic.

It’s also equal thirds a disaster, a troublemaker, and the sweetest, most affectionate thing ever.

By the next morning he’s had to rescue it from both a ceiling light fixture and the top of the kitchen cabinets and can’t figure out how it got on either, he has chewed the cat out for trying to use the couch, the carpet, and his pants as a scratching post and for knocking multiple things off the counters, and he has spent inordinate amounts of time with the cat twining around his shins or sitting in his lap or lying next to him in bed. The cat actually burrowed under the covers next to him with just its wrinkled little face sticking out, purring its broken purr with all its little heart and soul.

Nate is kind of in love.

He bodyslides across town for a litter box, kitty litter, and food. And then ends up buying a handful of cat toys and a scratching post and a carrier as well. And a squirt bottle--some strange inner surety insists he's going to need it.

The cat is leaning against him almost the instant he bodyslides back into the apartment. It seems very excited about the litter box and manages to kick litter absolutely _everywhere_ in the bathroom in the process of doing its business.

Nate sighs and gets the broom and dustpan.

When he finishes cleaning up, he discovers the cat sitting on the kitchen counter, one hind leg sticking straight up in the air while it licks its own butt.

“Get off my damn counter. I make food there. Also, you're going to the vet.”

He's almost never seen man or mutant move as fast as the cat does with a flailing of legs and scraping of claws on the countertop. Then there's just a blurred streak of pink and black as it flees at top speed to another part of the apartment.

He finally finds the cat hiding under his bed and has to use his telekinesis to pry its claws out of the carpet and pull it out. The thing is yowling its damn head off and squirming desperately in his arms and he snaps, “Wade, knock it off,” before even thinking about it.

Both he and the cat freeze and stare at each other with wide eyes. It gives a querulous meow, and then gets his TO thumb in one side of its mouth and starts trying to chew on it.

“Stop that, you're going to break your teeth. And you remind me of a friend when you’re acting so ridiculous, that's all,” he adds lamely. “Maybe I should call you Winston. Or Wilson. But,” he reminds himself as much as the cat, “only if the vet says you don't already belong to someone.”

He finally gives up on trying to get the cat in the carrier and tucks it inside his jacket again. The cat looks smug, like it knows just how much it's getting away with, and settles with only its head peeking out, eyes half-lidded slits.

When he walks into the vet's, he's glad all over again that he has it tucked against him, because the cat starts shivering, obviously deeply distressed. When he has to take it out in the exam room, it huddles on the table with its tail tucked between its legs, obviously trying to have a full blown panic attack and making its goblin noise and trying desperately to hide under his coat again.

“I’m really confused how he managed to survive on the street,” the vet says as she gently goes about her examination with a puzzled frown. “Sphynx cats aren’t supposed to be outdoor cats _at all_. They can’t keep warm on their own, they have a lot of skincare needs, they have a special diet. This one is unchipped, so you can keep him if you want, or you could put him up for adoption. Although I’m not sure anyone else would want to take anything as beat up and difficult as he is. Are you sure you’re ready for all his special care needs?”

Nate looks down at the cat, who is staring up at him piteously. He gently strokes its cheek and it closes its eyes and butts its tiny head into his hand.

“Yes, I’d like to keep him,” he says.

They chip the cat and vaccinate him while he screams his bloody head off. Then Nate cuddles him inside his jacket while the vet gives him the rest of her instructions on caring for Sphynx cats.

Nate leaves the vet with a warm bundle nestled up against his heart, some paperwork, a deep confusion as to how he just ended up with a responsibility like this, and no regrets.

_~~~~~time passes~~~~~_

Wade's slowly learning who the cat is. He’s still not quite sure why he up and adopted a nearly-four-foot-long giant stray cat, but whenever he looks into the cat’s single blue eye and sees it looking back at him with curiosity and interest and, at least in a cat sort of way, warm fondness, he honestly can’t imagine _not_ keeping it.

And if the mauled left side and blue eye of a very particular shade and silver fur and deep purr reminds him of anyone, well, that’s between himself and Mr. Priscilla Catskani’son, thank you very much.

The cat isn’t a sit-on-you sort of cat, thank goodness, because there’s just too much of him to hold. He’s more of a sit-next-to-you kind of cat. He curls up next to Wade on the couch, radiating heat and comfort as Wade gently pets and brushes what seems like acres of silky fur.

The cat is generally well behaved and an excellent housemate, but in exchange he is regally insistent upon getting his way and his independence when he wants it. He'll stand at the front door, meowing insistently until Wade lets him out. Or make his disapproval of the state of his litter box abundantly clear until Wade cleans it. There's just something about how that one blue eye stares at him expectantly that makes Wade feel judged and a little embarrassed and also inspired to try to keep the place cleaner for both their sakes.

Yes, he does let it out of the apartment to roam. He figures the cat has survived quite a while on the streets; he's going to keep surviving and he'd be miserable if he were suddenly confined. But he still worries every time the cat is gone until it comes back.

The exception to the cat's good behavior is when he manages to completely fubar something. On more than one occasion, Wade has stepped in his front door to find the cat waiting sheepishly for him, slinking away with body held low to the floor to lead him to something he's managed to accidentally destroy.

“How in the world did you manage to pull down the shower curtain?!”

“Oh my god, you knocked over the TV!!”

“My Golden Girls mug!! Nathaniel! Bad kitty! You are sleeping on the couch tonight!”

“Listen, I understand that you might have been hungry, but the contents of the bag of delicious kitty kibble are supposed to be _in the bag_ , not spread across the kitchen floor!”

When Wade goes on missions, he leaves a ground floor window cracked so the cat can come and go as it pleases. He also hassles his neighbors until he finds the ones that enjoy cat sitting and are willing to put out fresh food and water several times a day and clean the litter box and leave his guns alone in exchange for a fistful of twenties.

His neighbors all gush over what a wonderful cat he has. He's so calm and willing to be petted. He has such a deep meow. He's so beautiful with all that silver-black fur. He seems to have a sixth sense and know when they're coming by, because they always find him sitting right in front of the door when they let themselves in.

“You're a good cat, aren't you, Nathaniel?” Wade coos as he strokes the face of the happily purring feline. He barely notices his neighbor give a wave and let herself out, what with the way the cat is nearly knocking him over in his enthusiasm. “Yes you are. I missed you too. I'm going to get me Mexican food and you your favorite squishy cat food and we're going to sit on the couch and watch She-Ra.”

The cat licks his chin in approval and the purring intensifies and Wade feels more loved by this one cat than by the entire rest of the Avengers and X-Men combined.

_~~~~~similarly~~~~~_

When Nate goes on missions, he leaves food and water and a clean litter box and makes sure to timeslide back within 24 hours. Or if timesliding back so close to when he leaves is too dangerous or if he’s running a mission in realtime, he asks a neighbor to cat sit.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a single neighbor who has agreed to cat sit _twice_. The answers range from completely untrue, or so says telepathy--“I’m out of town too, what a shame”--to vague--“I’d prefer not to”--to outright rude--“I don’t care how good a neighbor you are, Summers, I wouldn’t look after that devil cat again if you paid me five hundred dollars!”

Objectively he understands. The cat is obnoxious a good portion of the time and seems to take great delight in annoying anyone other than himself. And sometimes he has to objectively admit it’s a little crazy, like when it starts walking dizzily in circles or attacking enemies that aren’t even there. Or when it suddenly leaps into the air and then dashes to another room. Or cocks its head like it’s listening to sounds that no one else hears.

It's vicious in a hunter sort of way as well, and has obliterated more than one cat toy with its needle-like teeth and claws. Those teeth and claws would also love to sink into the furniture, but Nate has a zero tolerance policy regarding property destruction and uses the squirt bottle with extreme prejudice on the cat any time he sees it trying to gnaw or claw his possessions. At this point he's fairly confident Winston has gotten the point.

But even with all the cat's objectively terrible behaviors, Nate is utterly smitten with it. There's just something so _gratifying_ about someone being so happy to see him whenever he returns, even if it is just a cat. 

It’s weird having something or someone to come back to regularly. He knows Hope is fine without him, even if she yells at him when he doesn’t visit or call or text regularly. But this cat? It's beyond needy. It always comes running the second he steps into the apartment, making all manner of noises to let him know how happy he is that Nate's back. If Nate was gone for several days the cat will literally leap into his arms and climb him to balance on his shoulders, purring madly the whole time.

Although it has some weird ways of showing affection. For one thing, it licks him. If he's sitting still somewhere, whether cleaning his guns or using his laptop or watching TV, the cat will jump into his lap and just start licking his TO arm and fingers. Luckily the sensations from that arm are a bit different, more muted and processed than with flesh, so the rough scratch of Winston's tongue is merely interesting, not painful. Another strange behavior the cat has is sitting on his back whenever he's doing push-ups, meowing at every single rep as though keeping count for him.

It still sleeps in his bed with him, burrowed under the covers except for its nose. At first Nate had been afraid he'd squish Winston in his sleep, but somehow it's worked out and they both seem happy to have a warm bedmate.

The worst thing is the way the cat yowls like a possessed and heartbroken goblin whenever he leaves for work. Somehow Winston knows the difference between Nate going out for groceries or a meeting or a walk and when Nate is going timesliding or has a mission.

When his work is done, he finds himself returning to this period, this place, just so he can see the cat regularly, at least from its perspective. Sometimes he's gone for days or weeks of his own time, and he finds himself missing the cat intensely. It's the one being who seems happy to see Nate for his own sake, not because of how useful Nate can be to him, and that's a feeling he could get used to.

It's strangely grounding, having someone like this to come home to, in a way he's rarely felt before.

_~~~~~~~~~~_

Wade’s not having a great week. Sometimes life sucks. Sometimes people hate you. Sometimes life sucks and people hate you because you messed up and it’s all your fault, so _you_ hate you too.

The best idea seems to just be to sleep and ignore everything else.

Which is what he’s trying to do. Except he keeps thinking he feels something tickling his face, but when he swats at it, the feeling disappears.

The fourth time it happens he finally wakes up enough to crack his eyes open and peer blurrily about, which is when he finds Nathaniel sprawled on the bed next to him, watching with open amusement as he flicks his fluffy tail directly at Wade’s face again.

“Knock it off, you fluffy bastard!” he protests.

The cat stands up, turns in a half circle, and plops down with its front paw on Wade's bare shoulder and starts sniffing his ear and neck delicately. Wade manfully resists laughing as Nathaniel’s whiskers tickle against his skin.

He snorts and smiles slightly when Nathaniel makes a high-pitched, pitiful mew, like he’s pretending to be a kitten. The cat is clearly trying to get something out of him.

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up. Manipulative asshole,” he says, tone far more fond that the words imply.

Fifteen minutes later, he has coffee and plain toaster waffles that he's eating as finger food (blasphemy to a proper breakfast, but he doesn't have the energy to make fresh and he’s out of maple syrup anyway) and the cat has fresh food and water, which he is attacking with enthusiasm. Apparently it’s noon, which explains why the cat woke him up. Honestly, he’s surprised his furry buddy hadn’t done it hours ago, since he was obviously hungry. Wade is only through one waffle and the cat is already done and sitting back, licking his whiskers and front paw--balancing carefully on his back feet only while doing the latter--in obvious happiness.

Wade’s leaning on the kitchen counter in just his boxers, thinking morose thoughts, when his eyes settle on the cat tease sitting a few feet away. Quietly setting down his coffee cup, he picks up the rod. Then he flicks the feathery toy on the end of the string over the top of Nathaniel’s head.

The cat freezes for the briefest moment and then launches itself at the toy, more than twenty pounds of instant hunter.

Twenty pounds of instant hunter with terrible depth perception. He overshoots the tease by several feet, twisting in midair to try to correct. Scrabbles, back feet flying on the kitchen floor before gaining traction and leaping again. Wade zips the tease this way and that several times before the cat realizes what’s going on and stops, sitting down and grumpily licking his fur to settle it.

“Don’t try to lie, you big goof. You enjoyed it,” Wade snorts, putting the tease back on the counter, amusement drowning his bad mood for the moment.

The cat gives him a Look and then stands and hop-walks off to sit before the front door, staring at it expectantly.

Wade sighs. “Guess I’d better put some clothes on. Don’t want to traumatize anyone with this horror show.”

Because weird though it is, Nathaniel can _always_ tell when someone is going to be visiting within a few minutes.

He's just finishing pulling on gray sweats and a long sleeved red Deadpool t-shirt when he hears the expected knock. Opening the door reveals two little girls in brown and green uniforms with a big box and a woman with hardcore mom vibes standing behind them. The woman looks startled as soon as the door opens, mouth hanging open and eyes flicking over Wade’s face and hands and whatever she was going to say completely forgotten. She looks like she wants to grab the kids and drag them away. The kids though, don’t hold back and Wade can’t help grinning as they start on their spiel.

“Hi! We’re your neighbors from the third floor.”

“We’re raising money for our Girl Scout troop.”

“Would you like to buy some cookies? We have Thin Mints and Tagalongs and Trefoils. But we’re out of Samoas because Mrs. Robinson on the second floor really likes them and bought them all.”

Nathaniel comes up to sit next to Wade and watch with interest, and then to magnanimously allow the little girls to pet him. Wade ducks back into the apartment for his wallet, and when he comes back they’re both carefully stroking him and talking about how big and pretty he is.

“Don’t look so smug,” Wade says, nudging the cat with his toe. The cat doesn’t acknowledge this except with a swat from his fluffy tail.

“What happened to him?” one little girl asks as Wade is examining the box full of brightly colored cookie boxes and calculating how much this is going to cost him.

“I don’t know. I adopted him and he came that way.”

“Oh. Well, what happened to you?”

“Melissa!” the mom gasps in horror.

“It’s cool,” he says, shooting her a quick look. ‘She’s just curious, not judging.” The woman winces guiltily. He looks back at the little girl. “It’s complicated, but it’s mostly skin cancer,” he says with false cheerfulness.

“Oh. That sucks,” she says, forehead wrinkling in confusion and limited comprehension.

“Yep, it does,” Wade says. “So I’m gonna drown my sorrows in chocolate and carbs, which means I need all your cookies.”

Their excitement drives any other probing questions out of their heads. One expensive transaction later, Wade is closing the door with a large box of overpriced cookies under one arm.

The cat looks up at him, blue eye blinking lazily and, unless Wade is just imagining it, approvingly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a big sap. Don’t rub it in. You gonna watch Golden Girls with me while I binge or not?”

Ten minutes later, Wade is well into a box of Thin Mints and monologuing at the cat about the wonders of the Golden Girls. The cat is curled next to him, head on his thigh, eyes closed and seemingly just as content to do nothing as Wade. But he stirs when Wade switches from his general Golden Girls chatter to a specific tirade about Bea Arthur.

“Come on, look at her!” He nudges the cat. “You live with me, you appreciate Bea, end of story, Mr. Fluffypants, or else there’s a door right over there you can exit through.” The cat raises his head, looking irritated. “Come on, she’s awesome! And badass. Look at her tell off Arthur for being such a jerk.” He sighs happily. “Oh, Bea, my silver-haired beauty, love of my life, you're the best. The only one for me. The yin to my yang. The Taco to my Bell.”

Suddenly Wade’s got a lapful of cat, feet pressing on his thighs. He blinks in surprise at the feline head that’s staring him down from inches away, ear flattened and eye narrowed, tail lashing in agitation.

“Uuuuuh.”

Wade can't figure out what's going on. Nathaniel has never acted like this. Ever. Not even that time Wade pranked him with Pop Rocks in his litter box. Sure, he’d gotten _even_ , and the horror of those events should never be mentioned in detail, but he hadn’t gotten _mad_.

Then Nathaniel is rearing up, planting one broad front paw delicately in the center of Wade’s chest and leaning closer to give a rough-tongued but gentle lick to the corner of Wade’s mouth.

He suddenly understands.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t really mean it. I just admire Bea from afar, like Josh Brolin with Ryan Reynolds. Of course you’re my favorite silver-haired beauty.”

The cat keeps staring at him suspiciously, so he cups its head in his hands, stroking the sides of its face with his thumbs.

“Really. I mean it. You’re all I want. Promise.”

Slowly the cat relaxes and settles down, for once lying across Wade’s lap instead of next to him, like it’s trying to make its claim on him extremely clear.

One more box of Thin Mints later and several more careful monologues about how Bea Arthur is incredibly awesome, although not quite as awesome as a certain mouse-catching, opinionated feline, Wade falls asleep with the cat purring smugly in his lap.

_~~~~~~~~~~_

It finally happens. Nate can’t find a cat sitter for any amount of pleading or money, at least not in the time he has available. He’s supposed to be at the X-Mansion right now, helping the X-Men on a project that’s guaranteed to take several days.

He glares at the cat where it's sitting innocently on the carpet with its skinny tail wrapped around its feet, looking up at him.

“If you weren't such a menace, I’d be able to find you a sitter. Get in the carrier. We're going to go visit the X-Men.”

To his astonishment, the cat actually gets up and does it, settling primly on the blanket inside the container.

The double-takes he gets at the X-Mansion are highly amusing. Apparently no one expects him to show up with a gun on his back, a cat carrier in one hand, and a bag of supplies in the other.

He gets the cat settled into the room he’s being loaned, but then it dodges out the door between his feet as he leaves. It scoots into the hallway and stops against the far wall with its back arched, tail held high with tip twitching, whole body practically vibrating with curiosity. It makes a _mrowr_ ing noise that Nate knows means the cat is just itching to explore and get into trouble.

“Wade, behave yourself,” he says warningly, because sometimes the cat reminds him too strongly of a certain mercenary for him to call it anything else.

The cat looks at him. And then tries to streak away. 

Nate catches it with telekinesis and levitates it back to him.

“I said, behave yourself,” he says dryly and stuffs it into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly before it can escape again.

And that ought to be the end of that.

Except that Wade Winston Wilson, Jr. is smarter than most people think, just like his namesake. Even Nate underestimates him sometimes, again, just like his namesake.

So two hours later while he's in the middle of a heated discussion with his parents and Xavier and several other X-Men, suddenly the cat leaps onto the conference table. It's not a small leap either. The cat clears the table edge by at least two feet, lands right in the middle of a pile of documents, and skids on the papers right off the far side of the table.

There's a thud. No one at the table moves, too shocked to do more than stare where the cat disappeared.

Then a second later there's a scratchy, wavering meow. Nate has come to understand it means the equivalent of _It's cool, I'm alright._ A second later the cat jumps back up on the table, although a little less energetically. It strolls over to Nate, sticks its face in his, and mews as cutely as it's able.

“Winston,” Nate says in relief, already reaching to gently pet the cat between the eyes, “you are a complete pain in the ass.”

“Nathan, is that … _your_ cat?” Jean asks, eyes wide.

Nate feels his face get a little warm. “I couldn't find anyone willing to look after him while I was here, so I brought him along.”

“We don't allow pets in the school,” Xavier declares.

Nate shoots him a Look. “If Kitty is allowed to walk around with a _dragon_ , I feel I'm entitled to bring my cat in an emergency.”

“Kitty's dragon has never interrupted a strategy meeting,” Xavier replies primly.

“He's _supposed_ to be locked in my room,” Nate argues a bit lamely. “I have no idea how he got out.”

Scott has been watching with an expression of disbelief. The cat is now wandering along the table, sniffing at each person in turn. Logan growls at it and receives a hiss in return. “Where in the world did you find such an ugly stray?” Scott blurts out as the cat stops right in front of him.

Nate winces and he swears he sees the cat's eyes narrow.

Then Winston turns around, arching his back again and giving Scott an impressively close-up view of his butt. He looks Scott square in the eyes over his shoulder … before kicking backward with one leg and knocking Scott's recently refilled, steaming cup of coffee right into his lap.

Nate's involuntary bark of laughter is luckily covered by Scott's loud shriek and the crash of his chair falling over as he bolts upright, cursing loudly.

Ignoring the resulting commotion, the cat strolls back to Nate, tail swaying happily.

“You're a menace,” Nate says as he scoops up the cat, trying to sound disapproving and failing utterly.

He leaves the room with the cat held again his chest, its head poking over one shoulder and warbling a long series of meows. He feels, with a completely irrational surety, that the cat is yelling, _Suck it, Cyclops!_

_~~~~~~~~~~_

Wade knows the cat is good for him. When he’s feeling like no one cares whether he lives or … well, not dies, because he can’t die, but if he _could_ die, he’s pretty sure no one would care. When he’s feeling this way, no matter where in the apartment he is, the cat finds him. And it seems to know what to do to make it better, whether that’s meowing until he realizes he hasn’t fed it and has to come out of his own head and depression to deal with it, or whether it leans against him and purrs comfortingly and wraps its ridiculously fluffy body and tail about him like a furred hug.

It also sleeps with him, curled up next to him on top of the covers in a huge pool of warm. So when Wade wakes gasping and jerking out of nightmares, he finds Catble next him purring comfortingly. Sometimes he just goes back to sleep, but a lot of the time he reaches out, feels the warmth next to him. Works his fingers into silver fur. Sometimes he very gently massages across the cat's shoulders and right front leg, to a redoubling of purring. Wade figures having only one front leg probably puts some serious strain on those muscles. It's the least he can do to help his buddy out with a little muscle relaxation.

It's good. It's not how he had imagined his ideal bedmate--more human skin and possible a glint of metal in those fantasies, less fluffy fur--but yet he’s happy with it.

_~~~~~~~~~~_

Nate does wonder, sometimes. About the cat. About whether it's really just coincidence that brought such an unusual animal into his life. An unusual animal that reminds him so strongly of someone else.

He runs a web search. Buzzfeed and Huffington Post both give him a [long list](https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/06/26/finding-soulmate_n_5501502.html) of highly romanticized ‘soulmate’ characteristics. He stares for a while at the one that says, “He or she challenges you like no one else can.”

When Winston wanders into the room and hops up to stand in his lap, he pets him gently. And then preempts him from sitting on the keyboard by closing the laptop.

“It’s not something I need,” he tells the cat, stroking with careful fingers over his head and down his back. “Another person would just … complicate things. You’re enough.”

Winston just headbutts his face and purrs.

_~~~~~some weeks later~~~~~_

Things get weird one night. Wade wakes up when the cat absolutely freaks out, first yowling and hissing stiff-legged in the center of the bed, whirling this way and that with its hackles raised as though searching for an invisible enemy. Then the cat wails like it’s been stabbed, leaps to him and huddles against him, shaking from nose to tail tip. He pets and soothes and holds it for the rest of the night, feeling confused and useless.

The next day, because news spreads fast in the mutant and superhero communities, he hears about Nate. He's …. gone. Neena's the one who texts him. He’s bizarrely grateful to her, that he didn’t have to hear it from someone who would expect him to want to talk about it or who would expect him to react way more or not at all. Neena at least understands you pass on news like that and then let the other person cope (or not cope) however they’re going to.

After the initial stabbing burn of grief, Wade’s mostly coping by ignoring it. Denial is a valid Kübler-Ross stage, after all. And he’s still spending most of his time petting Catble, who is still jumping at shadows and routinely trying to lie across Wade’s lap like it's the only thing that comforts him, which is a distraction from his own problems.

He also indulges in some denial and bargaining. After all, both he and Nate have gone to each other’s funerals before. No reason to think this is going to be the last time for a comics-style resurrection.

He snaps out of it and has a spurt of acceptance long enough to go out and purge one of Nate’s safe houses and get in his computer system to wipe the data there. Then he retreats back to the apartment to engage in a good, long, thorough round of depression. 

Two nights later, he’s fitfully asleep with Catskani’son on the bed with him, when suddenly the cat leaps up again. This time the cat flies off the bed and streaks for the living room. Wade rolls out, half asleep, grabbing the gun from under his pillow as he goes. He makes it to the living room a few seconds later, in time to see a shape jump in through the window he’d left cracked for his furry buddy, in case he decided to be less clingy and actually go out prowling. The cat absolutely tackles whatever it is, and Wade has the two of them in his sights immediately, thinking maybe Catble’s attacking a racoon or a giant mutant rat or something.

But he doesn’t hear any fighting sounds, just a cacophony (catcophony?) of meowing and purring, and when he flicks on the lights he discovers Nathaniel absolutely loving on another cat.

In between his furry buddy headbutting the other cat and leaning against it so hard that they both topple over and then Nathaniel flopping on top of the other cat to start enthusiastically licking its face, it takes a minute for Wade to get a good look at the intruder. When he does, he sees it’s a wrinkly, hairless, scarred-up cat, and he also sees it’s going just as nuts as Catble is. It’s got it’s skinny-looking paws wrapped around Catble’s neck and is happily rubbing his head on Catble and purring like someone shot a noisy engine and then expected it to run anyway.

Wade lowers the gun and considers the whole thing. Nathaniel stops purring loud enough to be heard clear across the apartment and looks up at him and mews his absolutely most pitiful mew. It’s the one usually reserved for requesting treats or trying to get out of serious trouble.

Wade looks at the other cat. It spares him a glance, big goblin-like yellow eyes blinking at him in disdain, before it goes back to enthusiastically grooming his buddy.

Okay. Two cats aren’t going to be any more trouble than one. And they obviously know each other. Maybe from when his was a stray? And Nathaniel’s allowed to have a cat buddy, someone to hang out with when his human buddy isn’t around. For some reason, Wade doesn’t even feel jealous.

“Yeah, sure, you can keep him,” Wade says with a shrug. He heads back to bed.

He’s not even surprised when two bodies settle next to him on top of the covers, purring so hard the bed vibrates. He glances over and sees that Nathaniel has wrapped himself in a comma shape around the other. His ridiculously fluffy tail is being used almost like a blanket to cover the hairless cat, who in turn is curled into the tightest, smallest ball he can manage. It’s … kind of adorable honestly. Heartwarming. Who knew two beat-up cats could find that much happiness with each other? Wade falls asleep with a slight smile on his face.

He really means to take the new cat to the vet, check if it’s chipped, all that stuff. He really does. But a morning turns into a day, and a day turns into two and then three. The new cat eats and sleeps and pulls all manner of shit. Wade doesn’t actually care one way or another if his couch has claw marks, but Nathaniel seems to object and will come over and swat the new cat--Wade is calling him Golem--if he’s not behaving.

The new cat doesn’t particularly care about him one way or another. He mostly stares disinterestedly at Wade, as if contemplating him out of boredom. Or shadows Catskani’son around the apartment. But Golem will cuddle him along with Nathaniel if he’s feeling particularly bad about Nate, so that’s a point in the hairless thing’s favor.

One thing is for sure: he doesn’t call the new cat ugly. Ever. He’s sure the poor thing’s gotten that enough in life, and he’s not going to add to it. Solidarity.

And then on the fourth day, they’re gone. Not under the bed. Not in the closet. Not in the cabinets. Not on the cabinets. Not behind or in or on or under any piece of furniture in the whole apartment. For a couple hours, he figures they’re just out prowling. After twelve hours, he starts worrying. At twenty-four hours, he’s freaking out a bit. At forty-eight, he’s frantically printing “Have you seen these cats??” posters and rushing around the neighborhood to hang them up. Unfortunately he only has pictures of Nathaniel, so he sketches the other cat in next to him in peach-colored crayon.

And then, at around sixty hours, he gets a call.

“What the…” he mutters, fishing his phone out of his pocket while it happily vibrates and plays the Golden Girls theme song. Incoming call from a contact. It's displaying an icon with Dr. Strange’s face and the name _Benedict Cumbersnatch_.

“Hello?”

“ _I believe I have some cats that belong to you,_ ” the sorcerer’s voice declares dryly.

_~~~~~one hurried trip across the city later~~~~~_

The moment the sorcerer unlocks the door, Wade bursts inside in his civilian clothes. He looks frantically around and then feels his entire body relax as he spots the two cats. They’re sitting in nearly identical poses, tails wrapped around their feet, eyes mostly closed, on a pedestal on each side of a weird looking statue of two people hugging in a slightly sexy way. The statue looks vaguely familiar.

Doctor Strange walks up beside him as he’s standing there, just breathing in happiness at seeing Nathaniel and his buddy safe and sound.

“Deadpool, did you perhaps touch this statue one of the times you broke into my house?”

“Uuuuuh. Hypothetically speaking, would this be a good thing or bad thing to admit to?”

“It depends. Would it be a good thing if I could get your soulmate back?”

Wade's brain screeches to a halt. Tries to parse that. Fails. Tries again. Fails again.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I just want my cats back.”

“They're not cats,” the sorcerer says, looking as put-upon as a college professor having to teach kindergarten. “They're soul fragments. Well. I suppose they're _also_ cats. But mostly they're bits of your and Nathan Summers’ souls.”

“Excuse me?” Wade says weakly.

One longer explanation later, Wade is standing next to the pedestal, hesitantly petting Nathaniel's head and back and listening to him purr contentedly. He's not sure he believes it, but if he does, it certainly explains some things and opens so many questions at the same time.

It also hurts. Because if the Doc is right, if Nate really was his soulmate all along, then what the hell have they been doing dancing around and past each other for all these years? Sure, they were best buds with benefits on occasion, the kind that can finish each other’s sentences and that you’d die for or save from certain death, but … soulmates?

“You're sure?” he asks, not bothering to look at Doctor Strange because after all there's no one else here that he could be talking to but the cats.

“Positive,” the doctor replies primly. “Two fragments working together is a clear sign. And when I use the Eye, they are most clearly bound by fate. The ugly one's soul light is the same as yours.” The Sphynx hisses in annoyance. “And I don't think there's much doubt who the other's soul source is.”

It feels wrong. Like he was cheated of something, over and over again.

Except it also feels exactly right, like the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.

“You said something about getting him back?”

“I have a piece of his soul. _And_ I have a soul bond to him.”

“You mean the one between the cats?”

“I mean the broken one coming from _you_.” He pokes Wade in the chest with one finger.

“Uuuh.”

“Nevermind, lay people cannot understand the mystic arts. Suffice to say, I can find him on the other side. And since he hasn't entirely left this plane, he should be able to come back if he's willing.”

Wade feels hope trying to bubble up. He tries to clamp down on it, because hope is always the most dangerous, most insidious of things. When he hopes, he generally loses, and the loss hurts twice as bad.

But Catskani'son looks up at him. Fond. Bright. It’s not a cat's slit-pupiled eye he imagines looking back.

“Okay,” he says hoarsely, “let's try it.”

_~~~~~~~~~~_

'It’ seems to involve a lot of circles and indecipherable writing inscribed in glowing, reddish lines on the floor inside a larger circle. There are two empty spots in the design near the center and another three near the edges. Doctor Strange politely asks Nathaniel to take one of the center spots and then waves Wade and Golem toward two of the outer spots, taking the third himself. Golem steps delicately into the one nearest his pal, so Wade shrugs and takes one nearer the empty spot.

Both cats sit primly on their haunches, calmly watching the humans.

Then Strange lifts his hands and speaks some magic mumbo jumbo words and things go weird. Everything goes all heat shimmery and indistinct, darkening and fading as the design underfoot flares brighter. Briefly there's nothing but blackness, but then things start flickering in it. They look like pale, colorless, transparent figures walking or running or drifting past, mostly ignoring their circle of light. A few turn their heads to stare curiously as they pass.

“Hey, Doc. Where are we?” Wade tries to fidget and discovers both his feet are firmly stuck to the design.

“Silence.” Strange hisses, sounding stressed. “We have a foot in Death's domain without an invitation. Do not draw their attention to us.”

“Death? Yeah, that seems legit. She's super pissed at me right now.”

“ _What?!_ How do you know-- No, never mind, I don’t want to know, and _be quiet_.”

“I don't know about that. Nate used to like hearing me talk. If you're looking for him--”

“I said _be quiet!_ ”

“No, seriously,” Wade says, and points.

Doctor Strange whirls--apparently _his_ feet aren't stuck down--and stares.

There’s a spirit floating outside the circle, just as insubstantial and shadowy as all the rest, but stationary and looking calmly at them as all the other spirits float by on their own business.

It’s Nate of course, one eye pulsing slowly, body held in the kind of graceful line, toes pointed, shoulders proudly back, relaxed and still, that Wade remembers with a pang. It’s how Nate used to float on Providence, back when things were better for him and both of them, when it seemed like Nate might actually get a bit of a happy ending, a bit of something that didn’t go all wrong. In fact, even his face and his clothes--weird, close-fitting suit--look like he did on Providence, which honestly gives Wade a quick pang of longing for his own death, because if you get to go back to looking your best when you die, then he’s going to someday be good-looking again in the afterlife. Wade quickly banishes that thought and concentrates on Nate. He looks quizzical, which is perhaps an understandable reaction to two humans and two cats in a magic glowing circle appearing in the afterlife.

“Ah. Yes. Nathan.” Doctor Strange clears his throat. “We were looking for you.”

_Why?_

Nate’s lips move with the word, but there’s no sound. Instead the question echoes in their heads.

“An, um, excellent question. Deadpool?” Strange turns his head and his attention to Wade.

Oh crap. Nothing like being put on the spot.

“Hi, Nate. Long time no talk to. So, I was just minding my own business, dealing with you being dead, possibly crying a few tears to celebrate my non-toxic masculinity, when this cat barges into my apartment,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “and my cat tackles him like they were long-lost best buds.”

Nate looks over at the hairless cat and a little smile quirks his lips.

 _Winston. I’m glad he got out and went to you. I don’t know how he knew to do it, but I’m glad. Would you … mind looking after him?_ He looks a little quizzically at the Maine Coon. _I didn’t know you had a cat._

“Yeah, he showed up a couple months ago, and that’s kind of the thing. Doc here says they’re cats, but not. He says they’re pieces of _us_.”

Nate looks startled, and he actually gets somewhat more substantial-looking, like he’s being dragged back to greater awareness, still colorless but not so see-through, floating closer until he’s right at the edge of the glowing ring.

 _Pieces of..._ He looks sharply toward Doctor Strange. _Stephen, is this about that soulmate statue?_

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Hey!” Wade complains at the implication that telling someone they’re soulmates with Deadpool is something to be sorry for, at the same moment the cat, who is apparently called Winston and what his middle name is doing as a cat name is a question that he needs to _discuss_ with Nate at some point, makes an annoyed mrowring sound.

Nate frowns as well, but he’s frowning at Strange and not at Wade, which makes hope take root a little more firmly. That feeling intensifies when Nate looks back to Wade and his expression softens, turns a little melancholy.

 _Wade, I … didn’t realize. Or maybe I suspected, I’ll be honest, but I wasn’t sure if either of us would want it to be true. If it would have caused more problems than it solved._

“You could have just asked,” Wade snaps, Nate’s words as painful to hope as a knife to the tender bits.

At least Nate’s spirit has the emotional intelligence to look chastised. _You’re right, of course. I’m sorry._ He lifts a hand to just outside the edge of the ring, palm toward Wade, and then stops as though there’s a sheet of glass between them. _It’s a bit late, I suppose. To ask. But … would you have been interested?_

“Of course, you idiot!” Wade snaps, because he’s got a lot of strong emotions right now and if they don’t come out in anger then he’s afraid he’s going to start sniffling instead. It isn't helped by the way Nate looks pained at the words.

Also, fuck but this is awkward in front of one other human being and two cats.

At least the other human isn’t paying too much attention, if the muttering in some non-English language going on behind him is any indication.

Nate shakes his head, looking conflicted.

 _It wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’m not a good person to … to … be anything with._ His face twists in a pained expression. _You know better than most, relationships with me go wrong. I’m not usually even in the same time period._ He laughs a little bitterly as he adds, _And I end up dead. This time it might even stick._

“Well, that’s the thing. Doc thinks he can drag you back out of here.” Nate looks startled, so Wade plunges onward. “Some mumbo jumbo about soul links and having a bit of your soul that wasn’t dead. You can come back with us.”

Nate pulls his hand away from the invisible wall like he was burned. _Back? I …. Perhaps I’m better off dead._

“Nathan Christopher Charles Summers!” Wade pounds a fist on the wall-thing between them and finds it really does feel like glass, vibrating slightly with a booming twang that makes some of the drifting spirits glance their way in surprise. “I don’t like your suicidal messiah bullshit, but you’d better be talking about that and not that being dead is better than being with me!”

Instantly Nate is closer again, pressing both hands flat on the invisible surface on either side of Wade’s fist.

 _No, of course I didn’t mean that. But … I’m not good at making things work._ A laugh echoes weirdly in their heads. _Combined with your luck… I really don’t think… I’d end up messing it up. Better to leave me here._

Wade glances behind him, trying to think of something else to say, and finds three feline eyes staring at him intently. The blue one expectant. Yellow ones agitated. He looks back to Nate and swallows.

“What about the cat?”

 _What about it?_ Confusion is clear in Nate’s mental voice.

“You found a way with the cat, didn’t you?”

Nate’s eye flashes brighter as he looks behind Wade, then back at his face.

 _Yes,_ he says softly, _I did find a way with the cat._

Behind them, Doctor Strange’s voice has been chanting quietly, and it now raises abruptly in volume, ending in a triumphant shout. There’s a ripple along the edge of the ring, flickering upward into the air, and both Nate and Wade nearly unbalance as the barrier between them shimmers briefly and then dissolves in red-orange sparks.

Somewhere far off, something shrieks in a way that seems to shake the entire universe.

“Quickly! Nathan, if you’re coming with us, you need to take your place in the circle! Before Death arrives!”

Nate doesn’t move, expression shocked.

“Nate, come on!” Wade yells, trying to grab for his wrist, but his hand goes right through the other with a tingling, grave-cold feeling. “ _Please!_ ”

The other’s expression wavers, turns to a grimace. Then suddenly it smoothes as a warbling, desperate meowing comes from behind Wade.

_Alright._

Just like that, he’s gliding into the circle, moving to the empty spot in the design as if he knows what he’s doing.

The instant he settles into it, there’s a eye-searing flash from the magic lines. And then they’re back in the foyer of Strange’s house, with the sound of something godlike and very angry still ringing in their ears.

“Yes!” Wade fistpumps, then whirls toward Nate … and then stops. Puts his hands on his hips and looks, shamelessly appraising. “Well. I guess they’re right that you can’t take it with you. And by ‘it’ I mean clothes, although you’ve certainly taken a lot of other very nice things with you.”

A very naked Nathan Summers rolls his eyes. A very naked and somewhat _younger_ Nathan Summers, looking much the same as he had in Death’s realm.

Doctor Strange hastily waves his hands and the air turns shimmery, winds around Nate, and solidifies into a leather bomber jacket, t-shirt, jeans, and leather boots.

Wade is still pouting at the lack of naked Nathan Summers when a light-colored streak zooms to Nate and climbs straight up his leg. Nate winces as sharp claws dig into the jeans, and big hands intercept the cat, lifting it to his chest. With a little scrambling, Winston climbs onto a broad shoulder, balancing effortlessly while rubbing his head on Nate’s cheek and purring happily.

Wade’s feeling jealous at the easy, obvious affection this other piece of him is lavishing on Nate, wishing it was him that those big hands were rubbing fondly and delicately and him that was causing the little smile on Nate’s face, and wow that thought was making Little Wade perk up a bit, when he feels something bump against his knee.

He looks down to meet one blue eye looking up at him, warm fondness somehow an exact match for the look Nate is giving his cat. A purr and the pressure of being leaned on somehow conveys _you did good_ in a way that makes Wade’s chest feel tight and fiercely happy.

He bends to give the cat a little thank-you scratch behind the ears when someone clears their throat.

Strange is standing with hands on his hips, watching them with a strange sort of fascination combined with distaste.

“While this has been highly educational and fascinating on some level, may I suggest you take your cats and leave? I have other work to do. And the PDAs are making me slightly nauseous.”

“Oh,” Nate says suddenly, sounding surprised. “The cats. They’re still here.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“The enchantment ran its course. Aren't they unnecessary now?”

“I don’t know, it’s not like the statue comes with a manual. Nothing mentions what happens _after_ the soulmates find each other. But obviously they’re still here. And still cats. Probably a lot smarter and even more opinionated than average, but cats nonetheless.”

Wade bends and scoops up twenty-plus pounds of cat, because he knows Mr. Fluffypants may be fiercely independent but walking is still kind of a pain for him.

“Thanks, Doc,” he says cheerfully, starting for the door.

Nate lingers a few moments longer.

“Stephen. Thank you. I'm not sure why you went to this effort, but thank you.”

Strange waves one hand dismissively. “You helped me with my problem. I helped you with yours and hopefully made the world of the living a bit safer for my trouble. Plus I got to see the effects of this statue in action, in case I ever need it again.”

“Well, you still have my gratitude.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck.”

Nate nods, then turns and follows Wade out the door and down the front steps to the sidewalk, one hand steadying the cat still balanced on his shoulder. He stops next to Wade.

“So,” Wade says, as nonchalantly as he can.

“So?”

“We're soulmates. Apparently.”

Winston chooses this moment to clamber over to Nate's other shoulder and start enthusiastically licking the techno-organic lines on his neck.

“Wade, stop it,” Nate snorts, before he thinks to censor it.

“OMG, you seriously named him after me? And you still say you only _suspected_?!”

“He reminded me of you,” Nate says defensively. Then, on a hunch, “What’s yours named?”

“.......Lionel.”

“...”

“Sebastian.”

“...”

“Simba?”

“Wade….” Nate is giving him one of those Looks, the ones that demand he Knock It Off Immediately.

“.....Fine, he's Mr. Nathaniel Fluffypants Catble Priscilla Catskani’son Summers! But I didn’t _know_! I didn’t know the magic thingie had a piece of your soul and put it in the cat and that it was _actually_ you! I thought it was just a big, loveable cat that looked a whole lot like you!”

Wade angrily stomps a few steps away. He hears Nate’s steps follow him, and a hand settles on his shoulder, so he turns his head to glare.

“I didn’t realize,” Nate says softly. “Strange said that the bit of the other person would try to find a way to bring us together, but … he was just a cat. He wasn’t trying to give me your phone number or lead me to you. … Although he did make me realize it might be okay to have someone else in my life.”

Winston meows pitifully and starts to shiver, so Nate scoops him off his shoulder and tucks him inside his jacket. Nathaniel picks this moment to start squirming until Wade loosens his grip and lets the cat hop down to the ground. The feline stands by Wade’s legs, makes heavy eye contact with Nate, and then very deliberately rubs with his head to scent mark Wade’s leg. Winston starts happily licking Nate under the chin and makes some of his ridiculous, talkative meowing noises. Nathaniel starts purring. Nate gently pets Winston until he stops running his mouth and tongue and instead cuddles with a look of beatific happiness on his wrinkled face, eyes closed.

Wade sighs and relaxes fractionally, turning back toward Nate.

“Soulmates.”

“We don’t have to do anything about it, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh no you don't, we already talked about this while you were dead, which, wow, strange sentence. I said I was interested, don’t try to weasel out of it! Anyway, everyone else still thinks you’re dead. Including that little shit teenage version of you. So it’s not like you have anything to do right now. Want to get take-out and come back to my apartment and trade cat stories?” When Nate opens his mouth but then hesitates, he hurriedly adds. “But it’s okay if you want to go do something about it anyway. Track down teenage you. Put him in foster care for troubled, suicidally homicidal youth.”

But then Nate says, “I … would like that,” and Wade discovers he really likes the feeling of surprise and hope that’s blooming in his chest. Even if the author is overusing the word ‘hope’ in this fanfic, it’s nice that they care enough to give him some. Not like those comics writers with their angst and disappointment. When Nate carefully places a hand on his shoulder again, solid and warm and _alive_ , hope sparks whitehot and incandescent. Wade knows this may end up burning him, this may hurt too, if Nate ends up dead yet again. But if he believes the magic’s right, then it’s worth it while it lasts.

There’s only a little bit of that hurt when Nate frowns and admits, “I don’t think I can stay away for too long.” But then he smiles slyly. “But I remember how much of a pain in the ass I was as a teenager. He can take care of the world for now.”

“And what are _you_ going to take care of?” Wade asks, and he’s fairly proud that he manages to get the whole sentence out without stuttering, since Nate’s thumb has started to stroke gently up the side of his neck.

“Guess,” Nate rumbles, moving in to press his lips to Wade’s. Two cats meow in something that sounds like a cheer.

 

THE END (of the G-rated content anyway)


	2. Porny Epilogue

Wade’s pretty sure he’s never going to get tired of sex with Nate. So what if they’ve been going at it like rabbits for the past couple weeks--a middle-aged rabbit in Nate’s case--it’s still just as good as it was in the beginning or even better.

Take right now for example, Nate pressing him down into the mattress, enormous bulk supported on forearms, tremendous cock plowing his ass and hitting all the right buttons. It’s not like he’s a button mashing either, no, Nate is like some FPS player who knows just how to headshot in a split second opportunity. Wade doesn’t believe much in gods, but he wants to thank whatever deity is involved for Nate’s amazing aim and control while dicking him down.

He might be babbling half of this out loud, based on the occasional snorts of amusement that are coming from Nate.

It’s so good, and Wade’s whole body is starting to tense, good feelings building, and he’s getting so close--

And then suddenly Nate jerks to a halt.

“No, don’t stop!” Wade protests frantically at the same time Nate snaps, “Get the hell off!”

Wade’s about to protest that that’s what he’s _trying_ to do if Nate would just _move_ , when there’s a meow from Nate’s back.

Wade starts laughing helplessly as two eyes peek over Nate’s shoulder, then laughing harder as Nate indignantly tries to shoo the cat away, except that Winston has apparently found that one hard-to-reach spot on Nate’s back and is now viewing the commotion as some sort of game, casually evading all grabs and swats.

There’s a deeper meow and Nathaniel leaps onto the blankets, then pads in a dignified manner to the head of the bed, the prosthetic leg that Nate had Forge make for him shining occasionally in the low light, before flopping on his side to watch the show with interest.

Nate goes back to bracing himself on both forearms and yells, “Winston, if you don’t get off, I swear I’m giving you baths in cold water from now on!”

With a bored-sounding meow to show he’s unimpressed by the threat, Winston leaps off to join his buddy, flopping down and rolling onto his back next to the larger cat. Like the voyeurs they are, they both keep watching their humans with interest.

Wade is still laughing, and the fact that Nate is swearing indignantly under his breath only makes it funnier, until he’s gasping for breath. With a dirty look at the cats, Nate sits up, grabs Wade’s thighs to shift the angle, and starts thrusting again.

Laughter changes to a gasp of a different nature in Wade’s throat and pretty soon he’s back to where he was, riding the high of Nate’s touch against him and on him and in him. When Nate’s hand settles around his cock and starts skillfully jerking him off along with the motions of his hips, Wade only lasts another minute before coming all over his stomach with a wordless moan of delight, hands gripping fiercely on Nate’s thighs. Nate apparently finds his own release at the same time, stuttering to a halt while dragging Wade tight against him.

There’s some long, panting moments of silence before Nate collapses on the bed next to Wade, ignoring the mess to kiss him deeply in that zoned-out, relaxed way he gets post-orgasm.

“We should put a lock on the bedroom door,” he finally mutters against Wade’s mouth.

“Winston would just figure out a way to pick it.”

“Wade, I don’t think cats can use lockpicks. Not even Winston.”

“So you’re trying to deprive them of getting their jollies by watching us getting ours? That’s cruel, Nate.” Both cats meow, as if agreeing with him.

Nate flops on his back with a groan. “What did I do to deserve this?” he asks the gods or maybe the ceiling. Then he grunts in surprise as Wade straddles him.

Wade looks down with a wicked grin, lazily dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach, then using it to draw a sloppy heart on Nate's chest.

He gets a grimace for his trouble.

Undeterred he leans closer and, dare we say it, purrs, “What you did was adopt a piece of my soul.”

And really, as Nate pulls Wade down to kiss him all over again, he can't argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Funny thing … soulmate fics are a relatively new experience for me. According to my research, they only started around 2011, and I took a break from fandom from 2010 until the beginning of 2018. And as someone who’s just met them, I love them. They’re so smoopy and fluffy. <3 But there’s also a part of me that just wanted to f*** with the trope and see how it would work when done a little differently. :)
> 
> Credit for the inspiration for this goes to the Cablepool Discord server, especially [chavslav](http://chavslav.tumblr.com/), [hillcreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillcreature/pseuds/hillcreature), and [Polaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris). And thank you to two of you and [Vicky_Strife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife) for beta reading. The help and sanity checking was greatly appreciated!
> 
> Girl Scouts and Golden Girls and Marvel characters and any other trademarks belong to their respective owners. :P
> 
> Bea Arthur: [an icon](http://withoutaconscienceorafilter.tumblr.com/post/175726750176/fffinnagain-hashememe-frozenn-light-icon)


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